


Morning After

by min_T



Series: Grimmons Oneshots [4]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post S15 AU, Spooning, slow morning sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-28 20:57:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20972948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/min_T/pseuds/min_T
Summary: Simmons gulps deeply, remembering the...events of last night. It had been the first time he and Grif had ever had real sex - in a bed, and not stuffed in a closet for a quickie - and only the second time he had ever even had sex, the temple of procreation being the first.





	Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> so anyway I have a kink for sweet, slow, morning sex in the spooning position, whacha gonna do? anyway, this is a post s15 au where Wash doesn't get shot I guess, cause everything is calm and good in the world.

Simmons blinks his eyes open slowly when he realizes there is light visible through his eyelids. He closes them again at the sudden brightness, tucking himself back into the comfortable warmth of his bed, and the even warmer figure behind him with arms clasped around his waist -  
  
His eyes shoot open.  
  
Oh. _Right_.  
  
Simmons gulps deeply, remembering the...events of last night. It had been the first time he and Grif had ever had real sex - in a bed, and not stuffed in a closet for a quickie - and only the second time he had ever even had sex, the temple of procreation being the first.  
  
He had rolled with it, gone with the flow and the absolute relief of having Grif back, which had seemed at the time like Grif was matching, if his rushed assertiveness meant anything.  
  
But they hadn’t talked about anything. Hadn’t laid out boundaries or terms and...and...now Simmons is lying stiff as a board, wondering if maybe the best night of his life had actually been a one off, or if maybe Grif still has negative feelings towards him and the things that were said, and _what exactly is he going to expect from him?_  
  
He feels a sleepy yawn press into his shoulder, and he catches his breath. Will everything be over when Grif wakes up all the way and realizes they’re cuddling?  
  
Grif’s yawning turns into a slow rumble, one that Simmons takes a moment to recognize is a chuckle.  
  
“You’re _way_ too tense,” He mumbles, fingers curling at Simmons’s navel where they were resting, inching downwards in a blind exploration, until - until -  
  
“Oh,” Simmons breathes out.  
  
“Yeah,” Grif hums, getting a better grip, trading off hands.  
  
Simmons relaxes back into Grif, letting his head fall back onto his shoulder.  
  
“That’s nice,” Simmons all but moans, and a huff of amusement puffs against his cheek.  
  
Grif is growing harder behind him, and Simmons can feel him poking the small of his back. He wants to help out, but he’s being spooned and can’t get the angle he needs. He tries to push his hips back for a little friction, but it’s not much easier to pull away from the tightness of Grif’s hands.  
  
Grif hisses when Simmons moves, pausing entirely, which prompts a whine of protest from Simmons before he can bite his tongue.  
  
“Do you mind if I-” Grif finishes his thought by tapping Simmons’s ass.  
  
“God, yes, _please._ Do you know where the lube ended up?”  
  
Grif grunts and pats an arm around the bed behind him, searching until he pulls his prize up with a little “aha!”  
  
“Oh, _gross._ You left it on the bed all night?”  
  
“Shut the fuck up, we both fell asleep right after, don’t put that on me.”  
  
Simmons’s nose curls at the reminder, realizing what’s probably dried all over the sheets. He doesn’t linger on it long though, because he hears the cap pop off and the squirting sound of the lube.  
  
He tries to roll over, but Grif shoots an arm out and keeps him on his side. “Nah, just like this.”  
  
“Um,” Simmons starts, unsure what Grif has in mind. “Okay?” He stays, assuming Grif probably has more experience.  
  
Grif pulls him close, back into the spooning position from before, but this time he’s got one arm beneath him to wrap around his stomach, and one hand trailing between his legs.  
  
A couple of wet fingers press at his entrance, still a little stretched and a bit sore, teasing on the push in by pulling away too soon, a few times back and forth, before finally sinking in. Simmons lets out a deep exhale at the intrusion, but it’s not as uncomfortable as last night.  
  
It’s not as hurried as last night either, not driven by desperation and the culmination of years of sexual tension that, frankly, was only exacerbated by the temple fiasco.  
  
It’s so slow and measured, in fact, that Simmons finds himself shoving his hips down to meet Grif faster, impatient and feeling a distinct lack of sensation without Grif’s hand on his cock anymore.  
  
Grif doesn’t pick up his pace, but he does add another finger. He tilts his head up over Simmons’s neck, and Simmons squeaks when he feels teeth bite lightly at his earlobe.  
  
“Just relax.” Grif tells him, right into his ear, and Simmons bites his lip as Grif’s voice makes his back arch instinctively.  
  
Grif’s fingers withdraw, and Simmons gasps at the sudden loss. He feels Grif nudge a thigh beneath his knee, and he prepares himself, relaxing as much as he can.  
  
Being entered while laying on his side is...is a whole different feeling. It might be because he’s not as tight this time, but the glide in is smoother, and Grif takes his time with this as well, dragging out the new sensation that leaves Simmons’s mouth falling wider and wider open, an amazed “o” shape.  
  
When Grif is all the way in, Simmons expects him to pick up a pace like the night before, not too fast because it’s _Grif,_ but still...moving. Instead Grif waits there a moment, breathing heavy onto his skin.  
  
Right when Simmons thinks he can’t take it anymore, Grif starts pulling back out, a slow, controlled drag back that absolutely reaches in his lungs and _pulls_ the moan out of him.  
  
It’s nice. _Really_ nice, for a minute. There’s sunlight casting a warm glow on them, and Simmons feels Grif wrapped around him and _inside _him, and it’s comfortable and good and oh god, is this heaven? Is this what heaven is like? Grif’s hips move so slowly, it sends waves of pleasure through him, rippling through his stomach and settling at the base of his cock.  
  
But a minute passes, as the pleasure gets more intense; his dick remains untouched, and the pressure there is building. Grif is still taking his time, unhurried and controlled, and the waves turn from pleasure to an increasing _need._  
  
He never knew Grif had such self control, although many times he had wished he had. Now he’s about ready to _curse_ him for it, sweat breaking out on his skin as Grif keeps moving at the _same damn pace_, like he’s just lazily jerking himself off and not fucking Simmons in the ass.  
  
The difference is, Simmons can feel the tremble the exertion is causing Grif in his thighs, so he knows this isn’t the same at all. It’s purposeful, the way Simmons feels like every thrust in is catching him slowly on fire beneath his skin, and feels like his mind is melting away on the pull back out, like he’ll go absolutely insane if Grif doesn’t give him _more._  
  
He’s always been self conscious about his voice during sex, dwelled on the idea that he would sound embarrassing, so he tries hard to control his sounds; and that definitely includes _begging_, so he grits his teeth and bears it, bears it as Grif ruins him by taking his sweet time.  
  
Grif pushes back into him, slow but just hard enough, and the angle is just right. Simmons jerks, and his ass tightens, causing Grif to grunt.  
  
“Fuck,” he pants into his neck. “I can’t keep doing this, fuck.”  
  
“Then _don’t,_” Simmons growls, and Grif meets him with more teeth, biting into the soft skin where his shoulder meets his neck.  
  
Simmons shouts, uncontrollably, and doesn’t know if it’s because Grif suddenly picks up his pace, because he starts mouthing up his neck, or because his hand finally, _finally_ finds his hot, leaking cock again, warm and firm.  
  
Simmons can’t even feel like he’s playing his part, too overwhelmed. The slow pace had worked him up, and the onslaught of all these sensations at once leaves him utterly helpless, pliant and weak for whatever Grif wants to do.  
  
Grif is murmuring nonsense into his neck in between open mouthed kisses, and Simmons cannot be bothered about his voice anymore. He’s moaning to match each of Grif’s thrusts, at a much more reasonable pace now, driving into him and feeling so fucking _good _that he can’t - he can’t -  
  
Simmons shoots over Grif’s fingers with a little shocked cry, orgasm ripping through him in a rush that clouds his vision. He can feel himself tighten all the way down to his toes, and Grif makes a _noise_ as he clamps down on him, and god that sound is so hot Simmons flashes even warmer and sharper for a moment.  
  
He feels Grif spill inside him, and doesn’t even have the presence of mind to feel grossed out about it.  
  
Grif slides out after a few seconds of riding it out, and the wet slide out is enough to wake Simmons up from passing out a second time. _Now that’s gross,_ he thinks.  
  
He expects Grif to move after that, either get up or roll over and fall asleep, but he doesn’t; he buries his nose into Simmons’s shoulder and pulls him even closer with both arms.  
  
Simmons blinks in mild surprise, and feels a rush of blood all over when he registers that Grif is _cuddling _him. He gets his brains fucked out, but of course _this_ is what makes him flush.  
  
He was going to insist on cleaning up, wants to force Grif to roll over and tell him how disgusted he is by the mess. Instead he feels Grif’s arms, thinks about how many times he had wanted to feel them around him before but hadn’t been able to cross that line, and he settles back.  
  
He can deal with a little grossness if it means he gets Grif, just like this; easy even though he gets himself worked up, natural even though Simmons doesn’t know what he’s doing.  
  
Just like this, where Simmons doesn’t have to wonder why they’re here, because he knows the answer; because they want to be.  



End file.
